Deadly Little Secrets (20 page)

Not ready to define her feelings, she smiled. “Nothing, I just like the look of you, of us together.”

He grinned at her and bent down to nibble on her ear, still watching her in the mirror. “I like the way your eyes go dark and heavy when I do this,” he whispered, easing a hand under the crisscross of her robe. “Or this.” He tugged her nipple gently until it peaked into a nub under his searching fingers.

“Hmmmm.” She couldn't help the sigh of enjoyment as she leaned into the caress. “That feels…divine.”

She dropped the hair dryer on the counter with a clatter, bracing her hands on the granite as he bent to run a hand up her thigh, under the robe to caress her hip, sliding both hands under the cloth as he pressed into the curve of her backside. She could feel the power of him, the throb of his erection on her flesh, separated only by the cloth but obviously ready to spring forth.

“Gates,” she stuttered as he found her wet heat, stroked the inner folds of her body, heating her up and making the slick wetness of desire leap forth to lubricate the way for him.

“I can't get enough of you, Ana,” he rasped, lifting her hair to one side as he kissed the sensitive flesh on the back of her neck. “I want you again, like this, where I can see us both, see us in the mirror as I slide into you.”

He let go of her long enough to undo his trousers, let them drop, before he pulled her back to him.

“Aaaaahhhhhhh.” She couldn't stop the delicious near-whimper of pleasure as he slid into her.

They'd just found a rhythm when their phones rang.

“No,” he said firmly, feeling her falter in the pace they were building. “This is for us. Anyone else can wait.”

“Gaaattteeesssss!” She drew out his name, half in protest at his decision, half from powerful enjoyment of what he was doing to and with her body. Seeing them move together, feeling it and watching it as he touched her, caressed her breasts, rocked into her from behind was as arousing and erotic as the way he made her feel.

Her orgasm built to a crescendo, and she urged him to come with her, both with the rotation of her hips and her voice. “You see me, Gates, feel me coming for you? Do you feel it? You make me feel so good,” she rasped, never stopping her pace, never looking away. “You fill me up and make me soooo hot, so ahhhhhhh!” She couldn't keep it up. She couldn't keep thinking. Nothing existed but her completion, his gorgeous face behind her, his hands on her hips, gripping her, holding her to him as he shouted his release.

“Ana! Ah!” He twitched and pressed deeper, pulsing within her as they both dived into delight yet again. No one, ever, had made her feel this way, brought her to such easy passion, delivered so much pleasure, so many times.

He banded an arm around her waist, holding her still. “You're bewitching,” he stated, keeping them connected for another minute as he kissed her behind the ear. “I think I'm going to need another shower.”

“Mmmm, yes,” she agreed. “But we have to check our phones.”

He sighed, loosing her with obvious reluctance. “Yes, I know. Duty calls, but Ana?”

She turned in his embrace, facing him. “Yes?”

“Nothing changes how special this is, was. Nothing.”

Joy welled up within her, knowing he felt the same way she did. “Yes.”

“A woman of few words,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “Thank you for the best night's sleep I've had in…years.”

He rested his big hands on her shoulders, kissed her. “We'll check the phones, and I'll wash off. We'll go from there, okay?”

“Okay.”

He stripped, then walked into the living room to retrieve his BlackBerry. “Hmmmm,” he muttered, scrolling through e-mail and scanning the entries. Back in her robe, she did the same, trying not to stare at the sheer masculine beauty of his body. There were scars on his back, one that tracked down the back side of one bicep, but they didn't change the overall vision of incredible manhood. To say he was a prime specimen seemed too pale a term.

“What?” he said, catching her looking.

“You're gorgeous,” she said honestly.

It was his turn to blush. “I'm not. Men aren't gorgeous.”

“Hey, I'm the one looking,” she teased. Delighted that she could shake his constant, even façade.

“We're never going to get to work if you keep looking at me that way.”

“I know,” she mumbled, ducking her head to look at her own messages. Now she wanted him again, not even for sex, but just to hold her, anchor her in the moment. The list of e-mail and calls blurred before her eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, coming to her and doing exactly what she'd just been hoping for. He wound his arms around her, tucked her head under his chin, and held on. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she returned the favor, drying her eyes on his shirt, which still hung open, pressing her face into the cloth and inhaling the scent of him as if she'd never smell it again. “Don't worry. We've got a lot to do, but I'll be back. Tonight if you'll let me.” He pulled back, tried to see her face, but she ducked her head to erase the last of the tears.

She'd cried more in his arms, in two days, than she had in fifteen years.

“It's not that,” she managed. “It's everything.” He stiffened a little bit, and she squeezed his ribs. “Stop that. I want you to come back. I do,” she insisted, looking up now to let him see the truth of her words. “I'm just a little overwhelmed.”

She was holding him closely enough that she felt him relax, felt his relief. “That's understandable. I've sent for the car; it should be here in about forty minutes. Where do you want me to drop you?” He said it as if there were no question that he would be doing it, no argument.

Well, she wasn't in a mood to argue anyway, she decided, letting it go. By the time the car arrived, she'd managed to make them coffee, and a bagel. Other than an intimate smile, and a thank you, he'd been immersed in his work, as had she. She quickly answered a text from Jen that said she was meeting Jack D'Onofrio in Vegas again. Frowning, she wondered if Jen was getting in too deep with this guy before she really knew him. Realizing the irony of the thought, since she'd just slept with Gates, she answered with a positive spin.

Other than the click of texts and an occasional comment about work, they rode in relative silence to her office, each engrossed in the details of their business. The caresses and absent touches were a conversation of a whole different kind.

“Do you have anything on The Bootstrap Foundation?” she asked, flipping through her daybook, noting the list of names she still had to check and how many times she'd been turned down for an interview, or just how often its founder and major backer, Drake Yountz, had been unavailable. The man was a shipping magnate, but Bootstrap seemed to be his big charity cause.

He looked over, a quizzical smile hovering around his mouth. “There's a joint fundraiser for them tonight, shared with San Francisco TeenCare, the organization that works to get teens off the street, get them involved in the community,” he told her. “Silent auction at the Opera House down on Van Ness.”

“Busy, busy, busy, aren't they?” she said, wondering how she could get an invitation to the event without having to cough up from the departmental budget.

“Would you like to go? Dav will be going, since he's a very involved sponsor for San Fran TeenCare and a number of people with whom he deals are large donors to both organizations. He's not very fond of Drake Yountz, but he does admire the concept he's developed in Bootstrap.”

“Dav's a sponsor? That's wonderful.” She wondered how a man like Dav had time to see to those details. “It's a great organization.”

“Very close to Dav's heart, since he claims to have been a hoodlum with no place to hang out. He thinks his early life would have been more pleasant if he'd had a TeenCare type of club to go to.” Gates's look was grim. “The darker side of Athens is a tough place to be running loose when you're a teenager.”

“I'd guess. I need to get to Drake Yountz. He won't return my calls. As to the gala, I'd have to clear going to the event with Pretzky,” she began, but he cut her off.

“Why? I'd like you to come as my date.” He smiled. “Nothing to check. I hadn't planned to go to this one. Dav had already arranged to escort Sophia Kontos to the event, so I would have been at loose ends anyway. If I go, I wouldn't be working, per se. Either way, we anticipate no trouble.”

“You don't?” Ana thought it would be a prime location to go for a hit, then stuttered over the thought of the glamorous Sophia Kontos as Dav's date. She was one of the hottest actresses in Hollywood, blasting onto the American scene after starring in a blockbuster thriller with the legendary Carl Appleton.

“The governor will be there too.” Gates grinned, dropping his voice to a guttural imitation of the former actor turned politician. “He'll be back.”

“Ha, well, I see what you mean. There'll be security out the wazoo for that.” She nodded, running probabilities in her mind. The probability that Pretzky would balk, the probability that she had anything to wear that was suitable. The probability that she could get something before the event tonight.

He took her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Say you'll come.”

How could she refuse when he asked her like that, all intent and focused on her alone? “Okay,” she whispered, hardly aware that she'd answered him as she lost herself in looking at him. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

“Good. And now…” he said as the car slowed and turned into the driveway of her building, stopping at the guard gate to check in. They were waved through and cruised to the door before he finished. “I'll let you off, but not without this.” He pulled her into his arms for a searing kiss that rocked her to her toes.

They broke apart, breathing like they'd run a race.

“I'm supposed to work after that?” she groused, knowing it would be hard to focus on anything after his sensual assault.

“Hmmm, have a nice day dear,” he said with bland humor. “I'll think about you,” he admitted, his eyes still dark with desire.

“I'll call you about tonight.”

He nodded and tapped the glass. The driver strode round to her side and opened the door.

“Tonight, then,” he said, running a finger down her cheek as a last farewell.

With that delicious parting, she got out of the car.

Chaos once again prevailed as she walked through the door, but at least this time it was controlled madness of an office working on problem solving. Everyone was still sifting files, pulling notes, and trading information to see if they could pinpoint the target of the computer hack. She got some absent hellos and a couple of questions on how her car was, but other than that, they kept working.

“Get shot at,” she marveled again, “and you're just one of the guys.”

“Burton, my office,” Pretzky called, before Ana could even set her things down. She double-timed it, and walked in just as Pearson, Davis-the-pus-ball, and Caldwell showed up. “Davis, I need you to check with Montrose over in Clandestine Services about the bounce from Turkey. Get me the latest intel on what's brewing there. Caldwell, you call Sci-Tech and see if anything new is on the market that might simulate the bounces. Pearson, follow up with the two IT guys, give them the latest intel from our crew,” she snapped, passing over a file. “See if that makes sense. Burton, we may have a lead on the hack, tied to something Caldwell was working on. However, I still want you lying low. You got your car handled?”

“I think so. I have to go over there in an hour, check everything with the adjuster. Then they'll issue me a loaner.”

“Good. IAD goons want you again for some additional info.” She rolled her eyes and grimaced. “Four o'clock. In the meantime, get me your lists and keep working on the case.” She eyed all of them for a moment. “Well? What are all of you waiting for? Get busy.”

The other agents filed out, but Ana waited behind.

Pretzky looked up. “Something you need, Burton?”

“Yes. Those additional searches, the data mining project.” She began laying out the path of the project, but Pretzky stopped her. “You mentioned this yesterday. Cut to the chase, Burton. In regular English.”

“Like I said yesterday, if we can get warrants for phone records on these businesses,” she handed Pretzky the list of five of the galleries. “And these individuals, we can coordinate a data run that will essentially sift the data down to common denominators, things like calls on the day the fraud was discovered, calls from the gallery to the victims, calls from the gallery right after those calls.”

“Wasn't that accessed at the time?” Pretzky demanded. “Pretty shoddy work if it wasn't.”

“It was, but the records aren't digitized in the file. Also, they don't look at all the individuals I believe are involved. The old warrants are beyond statute by at least three years.”

“Shit. You were right then, new warrants.” Pretzky frowned, tapping her foot in the familiar irritated tattoo. “Give me the list. I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” Ana said with relief. If they could just find a lead, something, anything, to go on, maybe she could solve this one too. The need to prove herself, using her skills, was a hot burn in her gut. She'd been condemned for failing with those skills; she felt it would take the same skills, well used, to redeem herself. Pretzky waved off the thanks, dismissed her.

She had her hand on the doorknob when Pretzky called her name. “Burton?”

“Yes?” Ana turned back.

“He stay for breakfast?”

It took every ounce of control not to let her shock flood her face. “Yes.”

Pretzky waited a heartbeat, a tactic to trip up a suspect, make them reveal more than they'd intended. Ana kept her mouth shut.

“Get to work,” Pretzky said, when she finally spoke. “And Burton? Be careful.”

That was all she said, but the way she said it, the tilt of her head and her posture, told Ana that she meant Gates, and that Pretzky knew a whole lot more than she was letting on.

“I will. It's complicated, but I'm checking all the angles.”

Pretzky nodded, sure now that she'd gotten her point across. “See that you do. Four o'clock, my office.”

“You bet.” Ana made her way back to her desk and unpacked her things. The three boxes pertaining to the art fraud case were still sitting on her desk, just as she'd left them. Frowning, she scanned her workspace. Something was off. Something was different.

Her eyes widened as she realized that the other cold-case boxes had been moved, just half a foot down the table, but moved nonetheless. She hadn't done it, which meant that someone had been in her space, looking for something.

Damn it. She made a decision and headed back to Pretzky's office. In Rome, she'd been too much of a lone ranger, sure her analysis was dead on, certain of her skills, confident in her read of the situation. If she'd done there what she was doing now, asking for help, two people might be alive. She'd never know, but she knew she couldn't live with more souls on her conscience.

She tapped on the door frame, and Pretzky looked up, the phone to her ear. She motioned Ana in, holding up one finger in a “wait a minute” gesture, directing her to a chair with the same motion.

Ana perched on the edge of the seat, still at war with herself about what she'd seen. Had she moved them yesterday and just forgotten in the turmoil?